Chirpy the anti-hero
by chirpytheantihero
Summary: Chirpy didn't remember much, but he did know that he needed to get revenge. He needed to hunt down and kill the Creepypasta's. None would stand in his way of revenge! His mask a silent observer to his madness. Was there more to his past then he thinks? Will he get revenge against the creature who created him? What about the mask, was it as innocent as it looked?
1. Prologue

Chirpy the anti-hero: Prologue

The first thing he remembered was the smell. The cloying scent of copper fresh in his mouth and nose. He remembered fighting to sit up; where he had been sprawled on his side, upon the cold and hard ground. He spat out the blood covering his mouth, gagging on the taste. His vision scattered as he tried to orient himself. He saw nothing but trees illuminated by the full moon above. There was no discernible trail, only shrubs and tall grass, yellowed from death. Fear and panic had clouded his senses. 'Where was he?'. He couldn't remember! He tried to think back, but he could only catch glimpses of memories and echoes of feelings. He remembered grabbing his head, trying to remember where he was and how he ended up there. There was nothing, only emptiness.

He had shakily gotten to his feet, vision swimming. His breaths had come out in harsh pants, as he spun around trying to find out where he should go. A rustle in the bushes caused him to spin around on the spot. His heart in his throat. He remembered staring wildly into the darkness, waiting the for the thing to show itself. There was silence for a moment or two, before he allowed himself to relax. 'Perhaps it was nothing.' He had thought as he turned and started walking in a random direction. He had only taken a couple steps when his foot hit something on the ground. Looking down he had barely made out a colorful shape.

He remembered leaning down and the exact moment his fingers touched the object. He remembered feeling a slight shock, but put it off as only static. 'It's a mask'. He had thought as he examined the oval shape. Holding it up to the moonlight he could see that there was a ring feathers surrounding the entire outline of the mask. Under the darkness it was almost impossible to make out the colors, but he had been sure that some were yellow, red and blue. The design of the pale yellow mask itself was simple, there was a thin line to represent a smile, with two vertical lines carved into the thin wood. The eye on the left had a ragged gouge in the wood running down the face, revealing the darkened wood under the paint. Thinking that it would be useful to figure out what happened to him, he had taken it with him.

He should have just left 'it'. Perhaps he wouldn't have gone through the horrors he encountered. Perhaps he would have been dead, before his life could be consumed in darkness. He wished he could be dead, he wished he had died in that forest. No whispers, no pain, no burning need for revenge. He couldn't stop, not now. He needed to finish ' _it_ '. ' _It_ ' and all others like ' _it_ ' needed to die! Only then, will the whispers finally stop! Only then, will he finally find peace and join 'them' in the afterlife.

For now, he will hunt ' _them_ ' all down relentlessly.


	2. Chapter 1

Chirpy the anti-hero

Chapter #01: The Beginning

The moon was bright that night, from what he could see through the boarded up window in the shack he was squatting in. It hurt his eyes even under his mask, so he looked away. The air in the room smelled musky and old. Dust particles lit up under the moonlight. His chair creaked ominously as turned back to his journal. The dim light from his candle flickered over the weathered pages. The warmth of that night cling to his skin, making his hands sweat under the gloves. He was too focused on his writing to give it any mind.

The whispers were loud in his ears as he wrote. A never ending buzz.

'kill...'

'revenge...'

'destroy...'

It droned on and on.

He needed to finish this hunt. He was so close to the end. He closed his eyes trying to focus. His breath was ragged as the familiar white hot hatred gripped his mind. It made him want to ignore his careful plans and just run out there, find the creature and butcher it. The temptation was strong, but no...he couldn't rush things.

He needed to be careful...

Dropping his pen, he stood up. The sound the chair scrapping across the floor was like a nails on a chalkboard. He grimaced under his mask. 'Like I don't have enough annoying sounds in my ears.' He thought as readied his bag, throwing all his belongings into it. Grabbing the nail embedded bat by his 'bed' which was really a pile of old blankets he found. He idly swung the bloodied wooden bat around as he exited the shack.

The dead leaves cracked under his boots as he headed out into the night...

Tonight he would either win...or lose...

The moon shone bright above as he set out, a silent observer to his wrath.


End file.
